The Crow and the Butterfly
by Igrayne01
Summary: One-Shot. Aeryn Cousland, Zevran, Alistair, and Morrigan go to Fort Drakon to fight the Archdemon and end the Blight. End-game spoilers abound. EDITED: Added another scene to build on what I had.


**Disclaimer: The lyrics of "The Crow & the Butterfly" belong to Shinedown, and the characters belong to Bioware. This story takes a look at an alternate ending to the game (one I did not ultimately choose for my character). If you are not comfortable with reading end-game spoilers, do not read!**

**

* * *

**_Just like a crow chasing the butterfly  
Dandelions lost in the summer skies  
When you and I were getting high as outer space  
I never thought you'd slip away  
I guess I was just a little too late_

The towering spires of the ancient fortress, Fort Drakon, loomed large against the ominous sky, striking a fearsome note into the hearts of those who stood below, gazing up at it in stark terror. As a grim reminder of Ferelden's tainted past, one of the last surviving outposts of the Tevinter Imperium, the fortress was still regarded as a bastion of power and politics. It was only fitting that the four travelers and their companions should face down the Archdemon here and now, in a place of such enormous historical significance and prestige.

"That is where Riordan went, may the Maker rest his soul," Alistair muttered in an undertone, shielding his eyes with one hand as he gazed up into the boundless structure. There was no sign of the Orlesian Grey Warden in the surrounding environs, though none of them had suspected there would be after witnessing his fatal fall from the rooftop.

"Then that is where we must go," Aeryn Cousland announced with a note of finality in her voice. "…If we're going to even have a shot at ending this Blight."

" 'Tis the most sensible thing I've heard you say yet," Morrigan acknowledged, and even Alistair was surprised by her declaration.

"Am I hearing things or did Morrigan just call you sensible?"

"It is not the kind of praise to which you should become accustomed, fool."

"Now _there's_ the Morrigan we all know and love," he drawled. "For a minute there I thought I had wax in my ears…"

The sound of their playful jibing caused a smile to spring to Aeryn's lips, unbidden. Before she took another step forward, she turned to look each of her companions in the eyes. Their countenances were all as somber as the weather, which had turned dismal in the wake of the dark forces occupying their lands. For a moment, Aeryn got the strange feeling she was attending her own funeral, only this time she was the one to deliver the eulogy instead of some nameless face in her mind.

"I want you three to know that whatever else happens, it has been an honor traveling with you for as long as I have. I am privileged to call you my friends, and should one of us not make it out alive…" She gulped and chanced a glance at her elven lover, whose mouth hung oddly ajar. "…Know that it shall always remain so."

Feeling suddenly tired and weary at the prospect of all that lay ahead, Aeryn flipped about to behold the rigid turrets and spires of the fortress. The last time she had the pleasure of visiting Fort Drakon was when both she and Alistair were imprisoned by Ser Cauthrian, and stripped to nothing but their undergarments. She blushed at the memory of trying to conceal her half-nakedness before the modest Templar knight. He had been such a gentleman, respectfully shielding his eyes even as they struggled to hold a conversation about how to break free of their temporary prison. Her fear at the prospect of not being rescued had been unfounded, as Zevran and Oghren had shown up a short time later in ridiculous-looking red and gold circus performer outfits to guide them to safety. And now, standing in the shadows of the spires that had once held her captive, Aeryn felt no fear, and she knew no doubt—as she perhaps should have, given the near-insurmountable odds.

The gate of the fortress was, curiously, unguarded. Searching the surrounding alleys for any sign of more Hurlocks before she was satisfied there were none, Aeryn nodded to the others to follow her. What they found within the gates of Fort Drakon was far more distressing than the scent of death and pestilence that hung thick in the air outside. Mutilated bodies cluttered the main entrance and adjoining alcoves, and the doors had been penetrated with a battering ram—or that was what she had gathered, at least, from surveying the viciously warped wood. The silence was deafening, a sober testament to the thorough brutality of the last few hours.

Aeryn pitched her voice low.

"We need to find and locate the rooftop—that is where the Archdemon resides."

"And slay any stragglers in the process, I hope," Morrigan volunteered with a look of utter joy. If she wasn't so otherwise concerned with appearances, she might have given a gleeful little jump at that moment.

"Yes, of course. Get your weapons at the ready in case we encounter any… uhm… _stragglers_. You have your orders."

Beneath the coarse material of the Grey Warden's chainmail glove, the metal links chafed against the little golden earring she wore on her fourth finger in place of a proper ring. Although it would have functioned much better in her ear, slipping up and down as it did now, the glove helped secure it to a location that felt much more meaningful. Had the elf known how deeply she cherished the gift—and how it had become something of a luck token to her, accompanying her into battles where she felt as though the odds had been stacked against her—he would have been perplexed, no doubt. But its presence on her finger only served to give her an added courage boost.

A shrill sound caught her ear and brought her to a hesitant stop. As she whirled about, her head spinning back and forth to try and detect its source, her heightened senses informed her they were not alone.

Several lesser shades materialized before them in colorful wisps of smoke, swiping their massive forearms toward the group of travelers as a small continent of guards surrounded them, their armor clanging musically.

Her momentary surprise was replaced with action as she scrambled feebly forward to confront their attackers.

* * *

"_Here_… it seems an appropriate moment to give you this," Zevran said in an uncharacteristically shy manner, extending a hand toward her. In his palm, he cupped an earring—it was a nice golden color with a beautiful luster. It looked expensive and, what's more, meaningful to him. Aeryn accepted the gift with a smile, knowing that the giving of it was tantamount to a proposal.

Following that string of thought, she teased, "Oh? Will that mean we're married in Antiva?"

With a chuckle, he replied, "Let's hope not!"

Trying not to betray her disappointment, Aeryn dangled the pretty trinket beside her earlobe, modeling it for him with each turn of the head. "What do you think? Too much?"

"On a beautiful woman such as yourself?" he purred seductively. "Never."

Hiding a pair of seriously feverish cheeks, Aeryn asked, "Tell me, how did you come by such a beautiful piece of jewelry?"

She made herself comfortable beside him as she pulled her knees to her chest. Beside her, Zevran had relaxed into a sitting position and was leaning back against a crumbling log. His glassy-eyed stare focused on the campfire, though it wandered to her face occasionally.

"I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows," he said meditatively, observing the dull red embers as they tumbled from the fire bed and shook sparks into the air. The near-deafening cracking of the logs settling into place caused Aeryn to crane her neck closer to hear what he was saying.

"A Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single jeweled earring when I killed him." The easily decipherable smirk on his face informed her that his thoughts were again tending toward the dirty, _as expected_. "In fact, that's about _all_ he was wearing."

"Oh, my…" She pretended to fan herself, earning a laugh from him in the process.

"I know, I know." His smile softened a little as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her nearer him. "I… look, just take it. It's meant a great deal to me, but so have… so has what you've done. Please, take it."

"Don't worry," Aeryn softly reassured him. "I've never been one to refuse a gift given in earnest."

"Good." He slid his arms around her waist to pull her closer. "Now tell me, my Fair Warden—where's my kiss?"

"Coming right up," she teased before leaning in to him with a feeling of complete satisfaction.

* * *

After having subdued the many Darkspawn bands scattered throughout the fortress halls, the four companions fought their way to the rooftop, where they burst through the doors to find a battle already in progress. With practically all of their reserves committed—elven, dwarven, human, and the like—they were dismayed to find that the enemy forces were already in the process of being soundly decimated. Whether or not their help was needed was indeed debatable, yet they sprung to action all the same, their battle cries piercing the stark and lonely landscape.

The sleek, geometric designs of Fort Drakon's highest point seemed to exaggerate the landscape around them, painting everything in a much more sinister light. Aeryn's eyes scanned the horizon, looking for a sign of the wounded dragon. Before falling to his untimely death, Riordan—_Maker keep him_—had made sure to incapacitate the beast with a sword through the wing, confining it to the rooftop where it was certain to do much less damage than it would if flying around the countryside unchecked.

Now the scale-bedecked dragon sat nobly on one of the adjoining platforms, looking for all its splendor and might very innocent and beguiling. It had adapted so well to its surroundings, using the spires to camouflage its presence, that several of the fighters didn't notice when a volley of fire came coursing in their direction. Too late, they flung themselves headlong from one platform to another, blue-black flames licking their heels before devouring them entirely.

"Now is my chance," Aeryn said through gritted teeth. The only one of her companions who now stood beside her was Alistair. He panted before extending an arm over her chest, the movement forcing her to take a step back.

"No. I should be the one to slay the Archdemon. You have a life, a love…"

She thought back to Morrigan's concerted efforts to try and get the Templar knight to lay with her the previous night. _To end the Blight_, she had said, _and prevent more needless deaths_. Even then, Aeryn had suspiciously questioned her motives despite the fact Morrigan had baited her with the haunting words that now crept into her brain: _"Consider Zevran. What do you think he would advise if he knew the life of his beloved was at risk? I think you know…"_

She had stupidly dismissed her words, putting the needs and desires of Ferelden before the own needs of her heart. And still, Morrigan had stuck by her side despite her protests to the contrary should she refuse to indulge this one desire. Was this now to be her fate—to reap the rewards of a decision made in haste? Her eyes crept to Zevran, who was busily fending off an attack from a nearby Hurlock. With a ferocious cry, he hacked and slashed at the monster until it fell with a gratifying thud before his feet. Satisfied that he was in no danger, she turned to face the knight for what would be one last time.

"And you have a kingdom to consider, subjects to rule over," Aeryn replied. "I have nothing so great that would compel me to change my mind. Forgive me, my old friend."

He softened his gaze.

"I would be dead if you hadn't saved my life a dozen times over by now. So let me save yours just this once."

Her eyes lingered on the elven assassin's madly pirouetting form as he delivered a roundhouse kick to his opponent's midsection, heedless of the life-or-death conversation that was taking place behind him. A lonely cold crept into her heart at the thought of leaving him behind, but the need of the people was too great to ignore.

"I can't let you do it. I'm sorry."

Without another word, she backed away, each step drawing her further from the horror-stricken face of Alistair and toward her goal. Whisking forth her ornate sword from its hilt, Aeryn flung herself at the beast, the path of her blade weaving a spell of destruction in its wake. The first cut brought the dragon's paper-thin scales slicing open like an overripe fruit, juices spilling everywhere. She felt rivulets of blood shower down over her as she buried the blade to the hilt in the creature's breast. A blinding flash of light engulfed her, the painful force of it coursing through her veins. She felt as though her blood was on fire, as though it would explode at any second, ripping through her skin in its haste to be free. Through her delirium, she saw Zevran's concerned face as he sought to fight his way to her. But a single arm—belonging to the Templar knight—prevented him from moving forward. He stood stock-still, in complete shock and horror, watching helpless as the events unfolded.

And then, with a final deafening roar, it was over. The sky exploded with a shudder, lifting the veil of fog that had descended upon Denerim. As the resounding cheers from the armies below reached Aeryn's ears, her movements animated only by the energy that now coursed through her, her one remaining thought was that she was suddenly very tired and would like to lay down.

Her legs obeyed her weary mind, buckling beneath her. She hit the ground and rolled away, her hand still grasping her sword. She could hear the sound of running footsteps striking the stones, and then the world around her faded to darkness.

* * *

Aeryn drifted in and out of consciousness, her body all but destroyed by the defeat of the Archdemon. He could detect her breathing, but it was still very shallow, very weak. She elicited a pained noise every time she exhaled, her face sheet-pale. As she lay there with her head propped up slightly on the skin of his knees, he cradled her head with his hands, stroking back the damp strands of hair from her face. Her faint scent clung to him with every touch.

"Be still, my Warden," Zevran whispered in his honeyed accent, his tongue sliding over every syllable with perfect inflection. Even though her vision was beginning to dim at the edges, the sound of his voice guided her back to reality like a luminescent beacon on a hill.

Oh, how she longed to latch on to the all-encompassing warmth and love in his voice and never let go…

But Aeryn sensed her time here was growing as dim as the world around her, and instead of struggling to grasp hold of her surroundings, she merely focused on taking Zevran's gloved hand in her own with an affectionate squeeze. Unaccustomed to such displays of affection, the elf gave it a tentative squeeze back. She loosened her grip on his hand a little, their fingers still touching.

"Take off my glove, please, Zev."

Not quite understanding, the elf did as he was commanded, sliding the chainmail off her pale, supple left hand. Perched on her ring finger was the shining golden earring Zevran had earlier gifted her with at camp. She gave it one tug before it came flying off. At the sight of the little bauble sitting there pleasantly in the palm of her hand, the elf shook his head.

"Here," she whispered. "I think you should have this back."

"No… it was given as a gift, _mi amor_. Keep it."

Her crooked smile was reassuringly lighthearted.

"Where I'm going… I won't need it, my love. Please, take it."

"These things you say… surely you don't mean them. Alistair is going for help right now, if you'll only hol—"

With a final squeeze of the hand, she departed. In disbelief, Zevran held her to him, his hands encircling her waist and dragging her down hard against him as though refusing to let go. He held her there until her body began to grow cold, memories of her warmth as she snuggled against him on those nights in the camp still very potent in his mind. His hand clutched the earring even as he fought back the bitter tears stinging his eyes.

"You are safe, _my Warden_," he whispered in his native Antivan tongue. "You are home."

With a final kiss to her brow, he gently lowered her blood-soaked head to the ground and laid out her sword beside her to prepare her for a warrior's burial.

* * *

_Your words still serenade me  
Your lullabies won't let me sleep  
I've never heard such a haunting melody  
Oh, it's killing me  
You know I can barely breathe_

The sun shone brightly upon the human stronghold of Redcliffe Castle, illuminating the mighty ramparts and surrounding foliage as visitors entered the courtyard to pay their respects to the fallen Grey Warden. To mark the occasion, Arl Eamon flew a solemn white banner at half-staff as a tribute to the sacrifice that had spared their families and won them a kingdom.

Many men and women—some friends, some who had only heard tell of Aeryn Cousland's brave final deed—filed into the courtyard, their silence a signal and striking confirmation of their mutual respect for the fallen woman.

In the quiet of the morning, Aeryn's still body lay upon a simple stone slab for a public viewing, where it would remain for three days before interment at Weisshaupt Fortress in the Anderfels. Her sleek black hair had been woven with flowers for her grand send-off into another life, and her body had been lovingly washed and prepared for burial before being redressed in her favorite Warden armor. Cosmetics and powders concealed the ghost-like pallor that had crept into her features ever since her death, growing perceptibly lighter with each day that passed. As Zevran gazed down upon the still, lifeless woman, his first instinct was to reach out his arms to his beloved and hold her until she was warm again, until some semblance of life returned to her frozen features.

Gazing around him, he was surprised—though not quite shocked—to see that almost all of Redcliffe had turned out en masse to pay their respects to Aeryn Cousland and her unforgettable heroics. The front row was reserved for her closest companions: Wynne, Sten, Oghren, Leliana, Morrigan, Shale, and her beloved Mabari war hound Cheldar. Not a dry eye was to be seen among them. Even the dog hung his head in mourning with a low whimper.

King Alistair, clad in massive golden plate armor, walked up toward his comrade-in-arms and let his gaze linger over her peaceful features. Her mouth was positioned as though in an enigmatic little smile, though now none of her companions would ever know what it was that had humored her in her last moments.

"My friends," he began, struggling to find his voice, "We are gathered her to pay our respects to the Grey Warden who saved us all. She gave her life to destroy the Blight… a sacrifice we must never forget. It was no accident that she was there, either. She was special. And each of us had our life touched by her in some way. Some of us even loved her…"

His gaze focused on Zevran, who hung his head in remembrance of his beloved, his features virtually unreadable.

Alistair continued: "The Grey Wardens couldn't have asked for anyone finer. How do you properly honor someone like that? The Grey Wardens are building a magnificent tomb at Weisshaupt right next to Garahel's, but I'd like to do something as well…"

The rest of Alistair's heartfelt speech faded out like a gusty wind dying down. Zevran's eyes focused upon the serene features of his beloved as he clutched the earring and held it near for comfort. One thing was certain: she would never be forgotten. She taught him to love deeply, opened his heart to a beautiful new way of viewing the world around him, and in turn she had handed over her life… and for what? So that Zevran might wander the now cleansed lands alone? She had selfishly stolen from him the only thing he had ever wanted to possess.

His heart softened slightly as he realized he was being unreasonable. His anger was misguided; she had given up so much that so many more might live. How could he think about himself at a time like this?

After Alistair concluded his speech, the crowd dispersed, allowing the Antivan assassin a moment to creep forward stealthily. From a satchel at his waist, he produced the golden earring she had insisted on returning to him. He picked up her hand and slid the earring all the way up her finger so that it came to rest against her knuckle. Hesitantly, he released her hand.

"For you, my dear Warden. May the Maker speed you on your way."

Taking one step back, Zevran retreated in the direction from whence he had come, uttering a hurried goodbye to his friends.


End file.
